


Resolve

by shefollowedfires



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Romance, Season/Series 04, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shefollowedfires/pseuds/shefollowedfires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At end of the world, who gets to decide what we deserve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closing In

Marcus wasn’t eating. 

It had been almost two days since the last council meeting – a grim debrief of Abby’s findings in the bodies that had begun washing ashore with increasing frequency over the last month. Their bloated, water-logged skin was also, to great horror, ravaged from head to toe by angry red burns. As the first one was carried in, they’d needed to subdue a suddenly-manic Jasper Jordan, who’d charged at the chancellors, screaming that _“you never should have sent us here!”_

A week later, Abby was able to convince him that there was no point getting angry when they really didn’t know the truth of the situation.

Then the next body came in. And the next.

Within thirty days, nearly a hundred bodies, all plagued with the same burns, had piled up onshore. It was Jackson who’d noted that, where the skin wasn’t burnt beyond recognition or – more worryingly – thick with tumors, you could see markings of ink. Grounder ink. They’d inquired of Indra to see if she could lend insight to where the bodies could be coming from, and it had taken her longer than she’d like to admit to discern their origin: Luna’s tribe.

Still, they did their best not to jump to conclusions before the test results came in. The people of Arkadia were still recovering from the City of Light, and Clarke’s revelation from ALIE had only exhausted them further. Hope waned, and it was all Abby could do to pray that it wouldn’t be completely extinguished.

Her knees had buckled beneath her, her heart in her throat, when she finally read the print-out of the results.

The next morning, she called a council meeting, and it took her a long moment to will herself to speak the truth: _Luna’s tribe was killed by the radiation from the nuclear meltdowns. It’s closing in on us now. We don’t have enough time._

There had been a long, heavy silence among the bare-bones council: Marcus (naturally), Sgt. Miller, and Jaha (a reluctant but repentant addition). Having been unable to maintain eye contact with anyone while speaking, Abby had then looked to Marcus – for ideas, for questions, for hope – and to her great horror, found none of the above. His hands were clasped tightly together on the table, giving him an air of formality that was betrayed by his wide-eyed gaze, fixed in front of him on something that wasn’t there. His brow furrowed slightly as his pupils began to flicker back and forth, a million thoughts and half-ideas racing before him before quickly evaporating. The silence grew, and Abby’s heart broke.

She’d fielded a few half-hearted suggestions from Jaha that they rebuild the Ark, send mankind back into space, with as much optimism as she could before dismissing the meeting. They would reconvene in a week to see if any more ideas had arisen, and if not – to discuss how they would break it to their people, their weary, broken people, that they had a month left at best before sharing the ugly, undignified fate of Luna’s tribe.

When the council room emptied, Abby suddenly found herself alone, aching for the warmth of her co-chancellor’s arms cradling her – but he’d disappeared.

He wouldn’t let this lie, she knew. He’d dig and wrestle and search and fight until he found some way to save them. She wasn’t too worried by his disappearance at first: the wheels had started turning and he needed to let them run. When lunch time came around, she herself had just grabbed some bread and a glass of water before running off to meet Raven to discuss the logistics of Jaha’s proposal. They’d worked through a shopping list of parts they’d need in order to have a fighting chance, and by the time the two had begun to go cross-eyed with thoughts of non-existent regulators and impossible fuel sources, they’d only just caught last call for dinner.

Catching Abby as she searched the mess hall distractedly, Raven remarked:

“Abby, it’s Kane. He’ll be fine. He was probably here earlier.”

She tried to accept Raven’s encouragement, but his reaction to the morning’s news had planted something heavy in her stomach that wouldn’t go away. The two women parted ways, and after a quick stop by Medical to check in on Jackson, Abby called it a night.

By now, their relationship was hardly news to anyone in Arkadia, but they’d tried to keep up an appearance of responsibility by continuing to sleep in separate rooms. There was enough inappropriate chuckling about it from the kids to begin with, and – impending doom or not, both Abby and Marcus understood that this was still a new relationship. Perhaps if things hadn’t gone the way they had in Polis, they might have now been at a point where a shared bedroom was a foregone conclusion; but they’d been forced to take a step back and approach romance with a healthy degree of apprehension.

Sometimes, Abby resented that step – it had been the adult thing to do, and there was certainly a wealth of “more important things” these days, but it forced her to rely on tentative kisses and discreet hand squeezes to slowly, ever-so-slowly build towards eternity. That resentment often peaked when she considered that they hadn’t even shared a bed yet… in any sense. But now, resentment gave way to despair as she made her way toward her own bedroom, achingly distant from where he was inevitably digging an early grave out of books and reports and his own dizzying intellect. She thought about turning the corner and making her way down the hall to kiss him good-night, to tell him to get some rest… but time was running out. She wouldn’t dare distract him.

The next morning was the first time she’d seen him since the council meeting. She was in the hallway, quickly debriefing Thelonious on the conclusions she and Raven had come to, when a familiar six-foot-tall mop of brown hair rounded the corner with some speed. He nearly collided with Jaha.

“Kane, my friend.”

When Jaha spoke, Marcus snapped to, haphazardly organizing the stack of papers in his hands – maps, mostly. His gaze moved quickly from the former chancellor to Abby. 

“Morning.” 

“Morning.” 

They locked onto each other’s gaze for a long moment – both trying and failing to read the other. It was Jaha who broke the silence.

“Looks like you’ve made some progress,” he said, nodding at the papers.

“Not enough, I’m afraid.”

Abby reached out a tentative hand and gently clutched his shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” she offered, holding his gaze. The corners of his lips quirked upward in the tiniest semblance of a smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. He turned to Jaha.

“Indra’s waiting for me. I’d better go.”

With that, he moved past them, but not before planting a hurried kiss into Abby’s hair. Staring after him for a moment, Abby nodded to Jaha to dismiss herself before chasing him down. The petite woman’s gait transitioned rapidly from a quick walk to a less-dignified run as she tried to catch up with the man-on-a-mission.

“Marcus, wait!”

He didn’t slow down, but offered her a smile as she finally met his stride. The fluorescent lighting of the Ark’s hallways cast deep shadows beneath his eyes, and Abby frowned.

“Marcus. Tell me you slept last night.”

He glanced at her, just quick enough to acknowledge the statement, but made no reply.

“Any word from Clarke?” he asked instead, keeping his eyes forward as she answered.

“They’re worried Octavia might have headed north, to Ice Nation. There’s a lot of anger there right now, and no one to lead them-“

She stopped to weigh the effect of her words on Marcus. Sure enough, a shadow passed over his tired features. His hand clenched, crumpling the maps slightly - remembering the feel of a pistol fired into the skull of the Ice Nation’s king. The memory passed, and Abby continued.

“-but Bellamy is confident they can scout out the border without being seen. It’s a talent they’ve got, that Blake family.”

_Reminds me of someone I know, lately_ , she thought to herself as they emerged into the daylight. Indra marched through the main gate, immediately spotting Kane and making her way toward him. He made to head in her direction, but Abby grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop.

“Marcus…” she pleaded. Though she could have born a hole into his skin with her stare, he seemed intent on keeping his focus elsewhere. She softened her voice. “Marcus, I’m right here. Talk to me.” 

Indra approached, and he was gone; Abby’s hand fell limply from where it had just held the arm of the man she loves. She watched, heartsick, as he strode off side-by-side with Indra, rolling open one of the maps and gesturing animatedly at various parts of it, already speaking more words to the Grounder warrior than Abby had heard from him in an entire day.

_A day_ , she thought, _its only been a day. I’m overthinking this._

So she headed to Medical, praying for something that would chart a new course for her overactive imagination. 

Indeed, she managed to lose herself in the usual series of little battles against fevers, pollen allergies (an airborne sickness that had only recently stopped raising alarm), heat exhaustion, and minor wounds. While she was busy with an injured Grounder child, Jackson had run to bring back some lunch from the mess hall for them. Upon questioning, he informed her that no, he hadn’t seen Marcus there, but immediately assured her that he hadn’t looked too closely.

As they got through each of the patients, the frequency of new ones coming in began to slow, and Abby’s mind began falling back onto Marcus. Again, she tried to accept Jackson’s offering that maybe he had been at lunch; that Raven was right to think he had made it to dinner, that she herself was wrong to think this distance she was feeling had any weight in reality. He was just busy. And she… she was just scared.

The pill bottle in her hands tumbled gracelessly to the floor with a rattle, taking both her and Jackson by surprise. Jackson watched as Abby did her best to pick up the bottle with dignity intact.

“You okay?” 

She carefully tucked it onto the shelf where it belonged, and faced her assistant with a forced half-smile.

“I’m fine… hey, what time is it?” 

Jackson glanced at his wristwatch.

“Almost eight,” he answered. She could feel him studying her before he continued: “I’ve got this, Abby. You can go get something to eat.”

She eyed the empty cots that populated the room. The floors were clean, the shelves organized…

Her stomach growled. 

“Abby, go,” Jackson urged. She quickly washed her hands before turning to leave, and he called after her with an earnest smile: “And say hi to Kane for me.”

She looked back at him with a nod of appreciation, then set off marching toward the mess hall. There was a tightness in her chest that grew less and less tolerable as she drew closer: what if he wasn’t there? …and what if he was? Conversation with Marcus Kane had been her place of refuge since landing on the ground, and had gotten to be as easy as breathing in the time since; but the uncertainty that had taken root recently had her suddenly feeling voiceless. She didn’t know what questions to ask, what answers she was prepared to hear – that is, if he were actually there, in the mess hall, taking care of himself, and eating.

But as she rounded the corner into the mess hall, she quickly scanned the room… no sign of him. 

A switch inside her flipped and all of a sudden she had everything to say; layers upon layers of accusations and heartbreak and righteous rage and love and concern and fear and compassion and doubt all bubbled up within. She could hear her own heartbeat pumping in her ears as they grew hot, her skin tingling all over. 

_He’s not eating._

She was mad: mad that he would resort to neglecting his basic needs like this when she needed him alive and well if they had any hope of turning fate around. But the heat inside her quelled somewhat when she circulated the thought in her head once more:

_He’s not eating._

Compassion eased the fury, and she approached the bar to ask for a bowl of huckleberries, carrying it with determination back into the hallways and toward the sleeping quarters. 

She didn’t make it that far. 

Passing the Chancellor’s office, she caught a glimpse of a peppered beard and broad shoulders. The door was cracked open just slightly enough that – after a shivering breath of apprehension – she was able to open it without any noise that might startle him. Once inside, she could see that he was standing in front of the map of the sectors, a marker in one hand sketching new details at the edges as he compared it to the paper map in his other hand. He righted himself when he finished, considering the changes he’d just made, and absentmindedly chewed at one of his fingernails. His expression was full consternation –  
whatever he’d just done didn’t please him. 

Finally, Abby announced her presence with a gentle knock and a soft “hi.” 

His eyes found her first, with a raised eyebrow, and his body followed. 

“Abby.” 

His expression almost softened, until he noticed the berries, and he turned himself back toward the map. 

“Thank you. But I’m not hungry,” he argued with all diplomacy. Abby moved further into the room, closing the door behind her.

“You need to eat, Marcus,” she chided, placing the bowl on the table behind him.

“I’m alright, Abby. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She allowed the lie, choosing instead to draw close to his side. She looked up at him, hoping he’d reach out an arm and take her in, but his gaze remained fixed on the map. She folded her arms in front of her and studied the details he’d added. 

“Are those new sectors?” she asked. 

“Mm. Some uninhabited, some by clans not involved with the Alliance,” he explained. He gestured toward the top of the map. “And there’s so much more up north, completely abandoned; but green. Fresh water, too.”

It sounded hopeful, but he remained stern. 

“How far north?” she ventured. He frowned. 

“Too far. It would take months for us to migrate our whole population.” 

She exhaled. 

“What about that?” she questioned, pointing to the southern sectors, which were all dotted with red. “What does the red mean?”

“Radiation,” he said matter-of-factly before turning around to lay the paper map on the table next to the berries. “Places where Indra has received word that their people have begun to fall ill.” 

Abby turned to face him, eyes wide. 

“But that’s only a few dozen miles away-“

“I know, Abby,” he confirmed, pointedly not facing her as he did so.

“There’s got to be something we can do. Maybe we can salvage what’s left of Mount Weather, go undergro-“

“Weeks, Abby. We’re down to a matter of weeks.”

Her blood ran cold. He kept his back to her, needlessly organizing the papers on the table, decidedly ignoring the bowl of fruit.

“Marcus, would you please just look at me?” she pleaded quietly. 

No answer. She stormed forward, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Marcus, look at me-” 

The violence with which he’d whipped around to face her, sweeping her hand away, had taken them both by surprise. Her heart pounded, a little afraid, as they held on to each other’s gaze for dear life. He looked every bit the man on the edge of insanity, terror shining from the whites of his eyes. His gaze fell.

“I… can’t,” he confessed, shaking his head slightly. She narrowed her eyes.

“Why not?”

Again, no answer. 

“Marcus, _why not?_ ” she repeated emphatically, lower and louder this time. He blinked, letting the moment die, and took her arm in his large hand, a little less gently than he’d meant to, and steered her toward the door. 

“Get some rest, Abby.”

She wrestled against his grip, tears burning at the edges of her eyes, the heat of rage once again rising within. 

“Let me go, Marcus! _Marcus._ Just tell me why!” she protested as he kept driving her forward, managing to twist the door handle from behind her. “Why won’t you eat? Or sleep? Let me go, Kane! …Marcus! Please!”

She was against the door when he finally turned her around, and his voice boomed:

“ _Because it was all for **nothing!**_ ”

The door clicked shut behind her. 

He stared at her – at the fear she was only now letting show, at his whitened knuckles around her arm. He released her, and she stayed frozen. His cheeks burned red with embarrassment, and she studied him as he ran a tense hand through his hair. The terror in his eyes softened to sadness, his long eyelashes wet with oncoming tears. Something in him had broken. Timidly, Abby reached up and cupped his cheek, brushing away the first of his tears with her thumb as it tumbled downward. He closed his eyes.

“Everything…” he sighed, and it seemed to work its way up his whole body.  
“Even building the Ark. Rationing oxygen to keep humanity alive… but it was always meant - to come to this.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It is… Abby. Everything we’ve been through, every battle we’ve fought, every promise we made – we were playing God,” he lamented. “But no one has that power. We certainly don’t deserve it.”

He turned away from her then, and her body ached with the reminder of how it felt to be so close to him.

“Yes we do,” she whispered. He didn’t acknowledge it, instead making his way toward the couch on the far side of the office. When he reached it, he collapsed onto it, head in hands, all accumulated exhaustion suddenly weighing on him at the same time. 

She padded softly across the room, kneeling before him as he wept. She peeled his hands from his face, taking them into her own, and sought out his gaze. 

“ _Yes, we do_ ,” she emphasized. He shook his head. 

“No, no, no, no, no…”

She watched him in saddened silence before leaning forward to place a firm kiss on his cheek, a hand in his hair to hold him closer to her and make her point clearer. He still wouldn’t look at her. Her heart plummeted in her chest, and it was her turn to drop her gaze. 

“You don’t think that you… that _we_ … deserve this,” she quietly accused, pulling away the hand that had been in his hair as if to verify what “this” meant.

He perked up at this, watching her. 

“No,” he breathed truthfully. He continued to watch as a tear streamed down Abby’s cheek. She was angry. He stammered a little as he explained: “It’s just that… Abby… we’re - it’s a second chance. And I don’t know if I can… if I have it in me anymore… to believe that we’ve earned it.”

She finally looked up to face him. She inhaled deeply, sighing as she prepared to speak. 

“Screw earning it,” she challenged. “It doesn’t work that way. None of it does. _We_ decide what we deserve, Marcus… “

She moved to sit next to him on the couch, taking one of his hands into both of hers.

“And if this is how it ends, I choose you.” 

Slowly, he turned his head toward her, eyes flickering to her lips, contemplating… hesitating.

“I love you, Marcus Kane.”

It was a plea as much as a statement, layered with the entire history of their lives: every sin forgiven, every trial overcome, every mile traversed with determination toward each other. _Everything was worth it_ , she thought urgently. _Please don’t take this away._

Her eyes begged a question… and he answered. 

He swept her into a powerful kiss, knocking her back and pinning her beneath him against the armrest of the couch. Lips crushed against lips, and Abby’s hands reached to pull him closer wherever she could. His hands grasped into her hair, clutched at her face – and he felt tears. Breathless, he pulled back, observing her. 

She was smiling. Her eyes glistened with tears of relief, which traversed past her crinkling laugh-lines and rolled down her cheeks into his hands. 

“I love you, Abby,” he proclaimed, his voice somewhat less steady than hers had been, as though he were directing the statement at himself as much as toward her. She rested her right hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat wildly; and drew the fingertips of her other hand down his face, stopping to feel the texture of his beard. 

“We’re going to get through this. Together.”

He kissed her again, gentle and slow, appreciating the feel of this woman’s tender lips against the dry, cracked skin of his own. They remained in that mode for a long time, Abby sinking into the sensation of his weight on top of her – I’m yours – and Marcus letting himself enjoy the warmth of her body supporting him – you’re mine. Their kisses were shamelessly indulgent - long and slow, drawing out the fullness of every sensation. Every touch was meticulous, as though they were committing every inch of each other to memory. 

Eventually, they came to a rhythm that found Marcus’ hips gliding against hers, Abby’s hands straying beneath his shirt; and they’d parted briefly, the same question in both of their minds. Marcus spoke first, after some consideration: 

“If there’s only so much time…” 

He stood, then, removing himself from her and offering his hand to help her up.

“But not here.” 

He led her, wordlessly, to his sleeping quarters – a silence filled with far happier thoughts than Abby had fearfully entertained earlier that day. Both with cheeks noticeably flushed, the pair was grateful for reasonably empty hallways on their short journey. Not that anything was worth hiding anymore; Marcus’ hand held Abby’s tightly, openly. 

They arrived at their destination, and Abby closed the door behind them. They were immediately tangled into each other’s arms once more. The night that followed was one of worshipful embraces, lips tenderly trailing along bare skin, charting new territories, claiming what was theirs. It was a prayer, an affirmation. 

They’d paused to take each other in as he readied himself to fit into her: worn bodies marked all over with the scars their survival had cost them. Some, it was not forgotten, they’d given each other. 

_We decide._

Marcus’ eyes had fallen to the necklace that still hung around Abby’s neck, the old ring resting coolly in the sweat-soaked sheen between her breasts, and  
she’d reached to guide his face back to hers.

_We decide._

She inhaled sharply as he moved into her. They were home. They were together. It was going to be alright.  
___

The next morning, Abby woke with a start to find that she was alone in the bed. The haze of sleep cleared from her vision and she patted at the spot where Marcus should have been – the sheets were still pressed from his body, and still warm. As she sat up, though, a shadow moved from in front of the window; and through the glare of sunlight, she could just see a figure - broad-shouldered and tall - standing only a few feet away. He was getting dressed. 

Hearing the shift in the mattress, he turned around, all warmth. 

“Morning,” he cheered. Abby smiled, and he leaned in to kiss her, simultaneously handing her a neatly-folded pile of her previously discarded clothing. “Sleep well?” 

“Mm.”

She studied him with curiosity as he pulled on his shirt. She considered the cliché of a weight having been lifted off the man’s shoulders, but he truly seemed lighter. That she had any part to play in that relief made her blush somewhat, and she remembered her nakedness beneath the blanket. 

“Well, you’d better get dressed,” he advised, and she set about the task of putting her bra back on. He smiled at her, then, an almost-impish grin that made her stomach flutter. She raised a suspicious eyebrow, but the answer that she received made her swell with love for her co-chancellor, her partner, her Marcus, with whom they’d figure something out, because they always did: 

“It’s time for breakfast. Will you join me?”


	2. Reaching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it's a matter of letting hope find you.

With only one day left before the council meeting that would decide humanity’s fate, Marcus was asking her if she wanted to go for a walk.

The past few days had found a scarce few moments of rest amid their desperate race to understand their situation, approaching it from every possible angle to find a way through. Jaha and Sgt. Miller had made trips to the demolished Mount Weather to take inventory of materials they could recycle: if not to rebuild the Ark and flee to the stars, then to make a home on the ground beneath a giant dome of protective concrete. Abby and Jackson ran what tests they could on the deceased, trying and failing to find some sort of miracle cure.

Marcus continued his meetings with Indra. With some relief, it seemed that Trikru was – so far – out of the radiation’s path. However, tribes to the north were now beginning to be affected; it was difficult not to think that the storm seemed to be circling around Arkadia, closing in, drawing out its threat.

After one particularly discouraging day, Marcus had quipped darkly that there was nothing more human than to rage, in all their fragility and insignificance, against such supreme, merciless gods as Time and the Earth itself. But rage on they did – and rage on _he_ did.     
  
In what restful moments they did have, however, Abby and Marcus were invariably at each other’s side. If he had an hour before Indra’s arrival, he’d run to Medical and keep Abby company, helping her with the day’s tasks in whatever way he could. If there was downtime in Medical, she’d seek him out and sneak him into a dark corner for a short moment of bliss.   
  
Nights were for deeper blissful indulgences: sometimes with racing heartbeats and skin and heat, sometimes slow, even breathing and warmth and safety.

But apart from their nightly homecomings, and meals (which were now coordinated to be shared, at Marcus’ suggestion), the time that Abby and Marcus found to be together during the day often came by way of little miracles – unexpected and almost by accident.

This was no accident.

He’d left early that morning to accompany Indra to Polis, where the wound caused by the City of Light was still open and throbbing. The biggest cause for infection was the void that had been left in the place of a Commander: without a leader, the alliance was struggling to hold. Clans searched within themselves for a new leader, for a new way forward, and were reluctant to search elsewhere. Some more enlightened souls had thought that Luna might now be swayed to step into her rightful role as the last nightblood, and it was, regretfully, Kane and Indra’s job to inform them that this would be impossible.   
  
So later that afternoon, when the Rover pulled in through the main gate and rolled to a stop, it almost seemed embarrassingly irreverent that Marcus should be bounding out of the car towards Abby with… a wide grin. She blinked hard at the sight, raising a hand to shield herself from the sunlight that glared from behind him. He was almost out of breath by the time he reached her.

“Hi,” he said as he greeted her with a sweet kiss to the forehead.

“Hi…” she returned suspiciously, “how’d it go?”   
  
He beamed.  
  
“She’s alive,” he answered, still catching his breath. “Luna escaped the radiation.”   
  
“What?”  
  
“She was there, in Polis. She’s ready to become the new Commander.”   
  
This was good news. Great news, even. But Abby found herself dizzy with how he’d sped through the highlights like she’d asked him what he’d had for dinner. And there was something in the way he was looking at her, eyes dancing over her features as if deciding which was their favourite, that made her think perhaps Luna’s survival wasn’t the only reason he was so radiant.   
  
His focus suddenly snapped into place, gaze locking onto hers.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he invited. She raised an eyebrow.

“I-I have patients to get back to,” she answered, eyeing him warily. It wasn’t an excuse – she’d gotten word that the Rover was returning, and had told Jackson she’d only be gone a short while to debrief.

“Indra will tell Jackson where you are,” he assured her, the aforementioned Grounder warrior finally catching up to the two of them and offering a coy smile to Abby as she walked past. And was that… a wink?

Abby’s mind began to race. What about Jaha and Sgt. Miller? They’d want to know about Luna. And where _exactly_ was Indra telling her assistant she’d be?

A corner of his mouth quirked upward, and he looked at her with an expression that made him look absolutely boyish. She sighed her resignation, and he began to guide her back beyond the gate.

About half an hour into their hike – and that’s what it was, moreso than just a leisurely stroll; trekking deep into the forest and up hillsides – Marcus realized that perhaps Abby didn’t like surprises. She’d been quiet, lips pursed, for a large portion of their adventure, and he could tell she was analyzing every piece of scenery to try and anticipate where he was taking her. But he wasn’t ready to tell her yet. All the same, he broke the silence:   
  
“How’s Clarke?”

A bad question.

“Still nothing,” she sighed. He nodded gravely, his expression darkening.  

 “I know I shouldn’t worry. But I can’t even get a signal through to her radio,” she explained. “They were going into Ice Nation. I can’t help thinking…”

He stopped, then, turning to face her. Her eyes were beginning to redden, jaw clenched against the onslaught of emotion. A single tear made its escape. She blushed. His heart broke, and he rushed over, gently brushing her hair out of her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb. _His Abby_.   
  
In recent months, he’d gotten the honour of seeing her rise, seeing her colours shine truer by the day. She’d let him in, slowly, teaching him how each little piece of her machinery operated, and taking his hand and saying: “here – you do it”. But there was one thing that didn’t need to be taught, that he would never try to have any power over - a fundamental fact about Abby Griffin he’d known since the Ark: she loved her daughter. But while that was often her greatest strength, it was also the one thing in this world he knew he couldn’t do anything to protect her from.     
  
She swallowed heavily before continuing:

“Marcus… what if she can’t make it back in time?”

“Abby, look at me. We’ll get your daughter back,” he promised, holding her gaze with utmost seriousness. “We’ll send out a search party tomorrow morning after the meeting.”

She nodded after a long moment, turning to kiss one of his hands in thanks. She sighed as she held it against her face, relishing in the warmth. He gave her an empathetic nod before taking that hand and resting it at the base of her neck, burying it in her hair, and turning to walk side-by-side once more.  
  
She quickly wiped away the remaining wetness on her cheeks before offering him a little smile.

“Now… where are you taking me?”

He smiled softly, the boyish jubilance starting to return.

“We’re almost there.”

Indeed, it didn’t take much longer for them to arrive in a seemingly unremarkable patch of forest. Marcus had climbed to the top of a small rise in the earth – barely enough to be called a hill – and eagerly invited Abby up to join him. Looking outward through the trees, there was an impressive view of the way they’d come, and Abby stood amazed at the altitude they’d climbed in such a short time. She could almost see Arkadia, nestled at the bottom of the valley, dense forest standing sentry around the crash site she’d come to call home.

She was squinting at this when Marcus suddenly took her by the shoulders, turning her around and guiding her gaze towards the forest floor.

And there it was.

“Is that…?”

He nodded. With utmost reverence, she slowly approached the Eden tree and crouched before it, tenderly thumbing its leaves. She shook her head in awe.

“I wasn’t sure if it had made it,” she breathed.

“It’s a survivor,” she heard him say as she continued to take in the impossibly familiar sight. “Since before we even left the Earth, this tree has stood witness to every trial, and it still lives with more determination than any of us.”  
  
“Vera would be so proud.”  
  
They both settled into a moment of silence as memories washed over them that had long been pushed aside to make room for the immensity of thought required to live in the present. Memories of stars and moonrises and steel floating through blackness. Memories of order and predictability. Memories of a time when there was at least the illusion of reward for sacrifice… before they knew better.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows with its golden light. A breeze rushed through the leaves of the hillside, filling the air with a sweet scent.  Abby brushed the soil surrounding the tree with her fingertips, and it felt smooth, moist, and alive…

Marcus took a step forward.

“Abby…”

She finally stood, turning to face the man behind her, and the last year flashed before her eyes. How Kane had become Marcus. How Marcus had become _hers_.

He cleared his throat, suddenly dropping his gaze. He righted his posture.     

“Abby… you… have known me,” he began. He willed himself to look up at her. “And that used to frighten me. On the Ark, you were this force of nature that I couldn’t – that I didn’t want to – understand.”  
  
She smirked slightly.

“You were so far from everything I knew, but you – you’d figured me out back when we were kids. And I _hated_ that. I hated that you constantly expected more of me – of everyone. That you knew there was more to expect.”   
  
He drew closer, cupping her face in one hand, smiling.

“But, as always, you were right.”  
  
Suddenly, suspicion fell lightly over her features, and satisfaction buzzed beneath his skin. His eyes crinkled at the edges, deep amber twinkling in the golden light. He spoke next with careful, practiced deliberation:

“Abby. I want - to be the man you believe I am…”

He took her hand.  
  
He bent down on one knee.

“…for the rest of our lives.”

She clapped her free hand over her mouth, staring at him in shock. Her heart raced.

“Marcus…”   
  
“No matter how short that may be.”

Her vision blurred a little as a wave of tears suddenly arose, and she desperately wiped them away as she watched Marcus reach into his guard jacket for something small and circular.

It wasn’t a diamond, nor was it the smooth, recycled steel of wedding rings on the Ark. It was delicate and white, with a shimmer of opalescence that caught hues of turquoise and lilac as Marcus held it up to the sunlight.

He smiled.

“Marry me, Abby.”

She blinked, stunned by disbelief.  
  
“Where did you…”

He gave a short laugh, and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Luna. It was given to her by the man she loved, before he died. He forged it out of a seashell.”

“And she gave it to you?”

“She lost him to the City of Light. He gave in to protect her, but she couldn’t protect him. She thought it would do better for a man to give to a woman who’d been to that hell with him… and somehow came out of it still holding his hand.”

Abby blushed a little at the thought of Marcus taking time out of diplomatic discussions to tell the new Commander about her.

“Abby…” he began, suddenly serious, and holding her hand a little tighter. His gaze focused on hers. “She said… to call it _hope_.”

With that, Abby knelt down and pulled his lips to hers. Wrapping his arms around her for support, keeping the ring enclosed in a protective fist, they stood up and cried and kissed and held each other as close as they could.

They eventually parted, just enough to look each other in the eye while still in each other’s arms. Abby felt herself bubbling over with joy.

“Yes,” she answered, finally; low and soft. “Of course, Marcus.”

He kissed her again, hard.

They parted once more, breathless and giddy and wiping away happy tears; this time removing themselves completely from each other.

Marcus opened his hand, revealing the ring. Abby considered it for a moment as he waited for instruction. Her right hand brushed absentmindedly over her left, hovering over the finger where a thin band still remained.

She hesitated.

Marcus quietly raised his free hand to stop her. He moved behind her and lifted her hair, setting about the task of unclasping her necklace. Abby couldn’t help fidgeting with the old ring that still hung proudly as he worked behind her. Marcus placed a gentle kiss behind her ear, sliding the new ring onto the chain, clasping the necklace back together once more.

“You are so loved, Abby,” he whispered. “I would never ask you to forget that.”

She turned to face him, clutching both rings in her hand.

“I love you,” she remarked, “so much.”

She pulled him to her, pressing her forehead to his, fingers in his hair, and they both closed their eyes in easy, restful silence.

After a moment, she opened hers, gazing down at the necklace in her hand. She smiled, overcome with bliss – but suddenly, realization struck her.

“Marcus. Look at the ground.”

“Mm?”

Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

“What is it, Abby?”

She crouched down, grasping at the earth below her with awe. She looked around at the forest floor surrounding her, studying it.

Since the first nuclear attacks, the earth’s soil had taken on a dim greyish hue. Choked by the toxins of radiation, it was a miracle that after nearly a century, there were still living things emerging from it. The people of Farm Station had clarified that the prognosis still wasn’t ideal – that plants could be grown, but would only die that much quicker. Germination was a matter of chance: only a scarce few of hundreds of seeds sown would actually take to the poisoned earth and begin to grow.

But here, expanding over the rise of earth upon which they stood, and reaching down several feet into the surrounding hillside… the soil was a warm, inviting red.

Marcus knelt down to Abby’s level, reaching between them to gently thumb a sprout of vibrant green that reached proudly, defiantly toward the sun. Searching the area, he found that the earth was now dotted with similar kin, some already recognizable as young trees.

“How is this possible?” he breathed.

She shook her head in disbelief, and smiled brightly at him.

“It’s the Eden tree. Marcus… this could be our answer.”

“We don’t have to fight the earth,” he meditated. “We can take it back.”

Their relieved, giddy laughter echoed through the valley.

\---

“It’s called phytoremediation,” Monty explained as he held up the soil sample Abby and Kane had brought back to camp that evening. “The roots of the plant pull up the toxins from the earth and metabolizes it. It usually takes years to clean up an area as big as what you said, but… I don’t suppose those studies were done with trees from space.”

The three of them leaned against the war room table, unable to take their eyes off of the rich red dirt. The co-chancellors excitedly clutched each other’s hand with whitened knuckles.

“Monty,” Marcus began. “How much time would it take to grow enough to, say, surround Arkadia?”  
  
“How much time have I got?”

Abby and Marcus eyed each other hesitantly. Monty nodded, understanding.

“Well, then, I’m gonna need access to a controlled environment like… the airlock. Is that possible?”

“Done,” Abby nodded.   
  
“And I’ll need to fertilize it in the new soil.”  
  
“Done. We’ll send out teams with the Rover to bring back loads.”   
  
“And… I’m going to need to use the Eden tree to source its biological makeup,” he offered hesitantly, eyeing Kane. “I’ll be as respectful as I can, I promise.”

Abby held Marcus’ hand a little tighter.

“Done,” he confirmed.    

Monty took a deep breath.

“Then I can probably, with a little acceleration, have… two dozen saplings? By the end of next week?”

He knew by their glowing smiles that this was the right answer. Marcus nodded in his direction.

“Thank you, Monty.”    

\---

As the population of Arkadia gathered before them the next morning, Abby considered just how close they’d come to having to tell them: _this is it. This is where we die. It’s time to make peace._

Even Thelonious, at the meeting earlier that day, had entered the council room with an ancient weight on his shoulders. The week had been particularly gruelling for him, surging with brilliant highs when he’d develop a shining new idea, and barrelling down like an avalanche with each low as he inevitably realized that there simply wasn’t enough time. He’d worked each day - until his muscles screamed – to excavate Mount Weather. But ultimately, a month was just not enough to salvage the halls of the old fallout shelter. It wasn’t enough to build their own underground city. It wasn’t enough to take to the skies. It _just wasn’t enough._

Which was why Kane and Abby swelled with pride at the opportunity to announce that – although breeding the trees to form a protective forest around Arkadia didn’t necessarily mean that the nuclear meltdowns were no longer a threat – it bought them more time. At the very least, it could buy them back the time they’d originally had.

 _Months_. _Plural._

Sgt. Miller had piped up that it would all be for naught if black rain began to fall and poisoned the earth all over again, at which point Jaha smiled for the first time that morning. He suggested a dome. Source the materials from what he’d excavated from Mount Weather, anchor it deep into the ground, shield the trees - and suddenly they’d have the time to build downward. As the trees matured, they would keep the air beneath the dome clean, and their roots would work to protect and purify the soil around it.

With time, Marcus proposed, they could begin to plant a larger and larger forest of Eden trees until one day the Earth was theirs again.

There had been a moment of reverent silence. This time, Abby felt no fear.

Now, as she stood on the platform with Marcus by her side, she felt only hope.

“People of Arkadia,” she began. “Since we arrived on the ground, we have faced so many trials. So many of you have lost so much, but that hasn’t stopped you from giving even more, and I am so thankful. You have stood together to survive, and it’s that strength in numbers that I need from you now.”   

A wave of nerves shuddered through her as she prepared herself for what was next. Marcus instinctively laid a reassuring hand on her back, and she breathed deep.

“The people of Luna’s tribe were, in fact, killed by radiation from the nuclear meltdowns,” she announced, wincing at the memory of the first time she’d said those words. Murmurs arose from the crowd. “It’s closing in on us faster than predicted. But we can still survive.”  
  
At this point, Marcus stepped forward.

“The Eden tree was exposed to extraordinary radiation on the Ark, and that changed how it processes the toxins that would otherwise kill us. It will protect us. If we plant a forest of that tree around Arkadia, we as a people stand a chance to survive these meltdowns. But the forest will also need protection. We have just under a month to build a dome; to shelter Arkadia and allow the trees to do their work.”

Abby continued on.

“Which is why I need all of you-“

She paused.

There was shouting from the gate. She squinted to see beyond the crowd to where the gate was now opening. The crowd shuffled anxiously, everyone slowly turning to watch the commotion. Guards gathered frantically, weapons drawn. Jackson was seen breaking away from the crowd to hurry towards the chaos.

Guns were lowered.

Three bodies emerged, barely conscious but alive, on the shoulders of two guards each. They were dirty, and as Marcus and Abby strained from their perch on the platform, they could see that angry red burns had begun to form on their young skin. Having witnessed these particular kids in various states of suffering prior to this was the only thing that afforded the co-chancellors any ability to recognize them:

 _Bellamy_.

 _Octavia_.

Then, a wisp of golden blonde hair.

 _Clarke_.    

Abby collapsed.

Only just catching her as she fell, it was Marcus that called out:

_“Get them to Medical!”_


	3. Surrounded

Abby hadn’t come to bed that night.   
  
But while there may have been a void where her body should have been – nestled easily under his arm, heartbeat reverberating against his own, warmth and the sweet smell of her skin lulling him to sleep - Marcus’ mind filled his empty bed, his Spartan walls, and the entire darkness of his bedroom with thoughts of her. He’d had nights like this before, where all efforts to sleep were futile against his brain’s desperate addiction to meditating on the existence of Abigail Griffin. He’d never admit to it, but those nights – infuriating and horribly unproductive as they were – were ultimately a matter of selfish indulgence.   
  
This one, decidedly, was not: she was hurting, and there was nothing Marcus could do to help her.  
  
He’d wrestled against his own mind to get what sleep he could, however, knowing she would need him for what came next. All the same, he rose early. The sun was only just climbing beyond the horizon as he marched through the still, quiet halls of Arkadia; stopping by the mess hall briefly before heading for Medical, coffee in hand.

She was exactly where he knew she’d be.   
  
The three beds lining a wall of the med bay were all occupied: three young bodies resting in a deep, weary sleep. Octavia was closest to the door. One arm hung limp, an IV poking out from and dangling above it; but the other rested on her stomach, hand curled into a loose fist. Marcus prayed a silent prayer of thanks that they’d gotten her home at last, as battered and broken as she was. He was anxious to hear what she’d seen during her self-inflicted exile: stories of places he hadn’t yet explored, of clans he’d yet to meet. He wondered if she’d found what she was looking for.   
  
Bellamy was next. The small radiation burns and bandages that marked his body were, to Marcus, not so jarring as his absolute stillness. Held hostage by whatever drugs they were pumping through his IV, the boy didn’t bear any resemblance to the ever-oncoming storm Marcus had been trying to shape into a force for good. Guilt fell heavy into his stomach.   
  
But seeing brother and sister side by side – the Blakes, whose ferocious love for one another had been their lifeline since birth – reminded him that every battle is better fought with an ally.

He looked to the third bed. Seated on a stool beside it was Abby, fully asleep. She was slumped onto the edge of the mattress, resting her head on a folded arm while the other reached to grasp Clarke’s hand. Her hair had been tied back into a functional ponytail; but several strands had fallen loose and hung over her face, old sweat slicking a few to her forehead.

Her daughter’s cherubic features, in sleep, gave an impressive illusion of peacefulness, belying the turbulence he knew was within – but Abby’s face had never learned to be so dishonest. While her shoulders rose and fell with easy rhythm, her features were stiffened and hard: her jaw clenched, her brows knit together tightly.

He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. 

“Morning.”

Slowly, she came to, eyes fluttering. She breathed in deep as she lifted her head from the mattress and turned to acknowledge him with a half-hearted smile. He handed her the coffee, which she accepted with gratitude. She rolled her neck, arching her spine as she worked out the stiffness that had resulted from her awkward sleeping position.  
  
“How’s she doing?” he whispered low.     
  
Her eyes fell, and she turned to look at Clarke. She took a long sip of the coffee.   
  
“She’s stable.”  
  
“That’s good. You’ve done well.”   
  
Abby’s expression darkened as she continued to gaze at her daughter, brushing a tender, thoughtful hand over her forehead. Suddenly, she tilted her head in Marcus’ direction.   
  
“Can we talk somewhere…?”

_Somewhere not here._

“Of course,” he answered, eyeing her with concern as she rose, abandoning her coffee on the stand next to the bed.

She led him outside, where the vibrant shades of sunrise were just beginning to fade to a dim grey; the day would be cool and overcast. Abby clutched her shoulders as she walked, rubbing them for warmth; and Marcus had to resist the urge to take her into his arms and keep her there, instead staying two steps behind – he could feel the tremors of how hard she was fighting to stay contained.    
  
The courtyard was empty, the rest of Arkadia still just waking up; a thin blanket of mist from the morning’s dew slowly evaporating over the expanse of grass. Abby stopped not far from the doorway. She faced away from him towards the hillsides and breathed deep, Marcus waiting anxiously for her to speak.

Her next inhale was staggered, broken.  

“They’ve got _cancer_ ,” she announced weakly, the last word stinging with bitterness. Disbelief. There was a short sound that followed that sounded like a laugh, but burned with venom.

The air left his lungs.

“But that’s… that’s alright, isn’t it? You can treat that,” he offered. “On the Ark-“  
  
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She remained as steady as she could as she continued:  
  
“On the Ark, we had treatment centers. Chemotherapy. Immunotherapy. We armed ourselves for it,” she reflected. “And we were so good at winning. We knew the science would work. We knew the machines would work.”

She finally turned to face him, and the mask dropped. Desperation weakened her features.    
  
“Marcus… what do I do when I don’t _have_ any of that?” she pleaded, enunciating sharply. “How can I save my kid?”

Her eyes were wild, searching. She looked like a lost little girl, impossibly young and fragile. His lips parted, waiting for his mind to give them words to speak, solutions to offer, but none came. Instead, he folded her into his arms, burying her head in his shoulder. He gently stroked her hair, keeping his other arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders in a protective embrace. Marcus stared out at the horizon, righteous anger burning in his chest. She clung desperately to his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Abby,” was what he eventually worked out to say. It wasn’t enough.

The radiation of living on the Ark, while it eventually became the genetic miracle that was protecting them on the ground, had made cancer a frequent threat. The second generation had been hit particularly hard, losing nearly a quarter of their population to the disease. The third generation, their generation, was where commitment to research was at its peak; and they had amazed even themselves at the progress they were able to make. For all the decades before the explosions that had been spent searching for answers, it seemed that a cure had always been a simple matter of putting it in the right hands: when survival finally trumps capital gain, miracles happen. But even miracles come at a cost.

Kane and Abby had witnessed first-hand the decline of one of their fellow council members: an older gentleman from Agro station, a remnant of the second generation. He was a brilliant man and a talented chemist. They’d seen him deteriorate in agony as his own body fought against him, the treatments also taking their toll. Finally, after a year of being on the front lines to save the councillor, Abby had gotten the honour of telling him he’d gone into remission and would soon have his life back.

Three years after that, the cancer returned, and he lost his battle.

But before he died, there was a resurgence of energy in medical research in pursuit of a reliable cure – and they’d found it, with the help of the councilor’s expertise in chemistry, just days after his death.  A little white pill, paired with the radiation therapy they were already refining, was the answer to containing and eliminating humanity’s greatest enemy.   
  
The pill was terribly expensive to make, however, so it existed only as needed. By the fourth generation, Clarke’s generation, their bodies had adapted to being in space, and a diagnosis of cancer was both rare and insignificant.

What remained of the pill had been left behind.

Even the radiotherapy machines, lumbering and voluminous, had been left behind.

Marcus heard a few quiet sniffs from where Abby pressed her cheek against his shoulder. He dropped his chin to nuzzle gently into her hair, closing his eyes as he held her closer.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Shh, it’s okay.”   
  
Abby grew still. He could feel her swallow deeply.   
  
“Maybe you were right,” he heard her say, but only just; as if perhaps he wasn’t meant to hear it. He removed himself from her just enough to take her face in his hands. A darkness had washed over her. She wouldn’t look at him.   
  
“Abby, listen to me-“   
  
“We can’t get away from this, can we?” she asserted. “It was all for nothing.”  
  
His heart broke for her – of course it did – but he felt something like anger rise up within him at the echo of his own words. He tilted her head up to look at him, gently gripping her jaw to hold her in place. His gaze was razor-sharp and serious.

“I can’t do this without you,” he argued, a hardness edging the sentimental words. “There’s another side to this, a safer shore, a haven at the other side of the storm…”  
  
He steeled himself.   
  
“But I can’t see it,” he confessed, a statement-of-fact more than a proclamation of despair. “Not without you. I need you to be my eyes in this, Abby. I need you to see that other side. I will get you there, but - I need you to tell me where to go.”      

She softened, but remained quiet. She let out a heavy exhale as she closed her eyes. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.   
  
“Abby. You told me that we decide what we deserve. So… what do you deserve?”  
  
Her eyes opened slightly, lashes shading the thoughtful flicker of her pupils as she took the question into consideration.

He held his breath, his heart pounding louder and louder in his ears with each passing second. His mind raced to convince himself that perhaps he’d actually hammered the last nail into the coffin: that maybe this was where his future wife decided that there was no future to be had at all. He had visions of her calmly removing his ring from her necklace and walking away to accept her fate in peace – _peace_ , he thought, the word he’d clung to in all their dealings on the ground suddenly stinging with bitterness. Abby was a wildfire. He couldn’t help feeling like maybe he was the rain.

He watched her gaze suddenly grow still.           
  
“To survive,” she declared, resolution strengthening her words. She looked up at him, chin high. “We deserve to survive.”  
  
He nodded slowly, breathing a small sigh of relief. She pulled a hand from around his waist and reached for her necklace, thoughtfully fingering the pearlescent ring that now hung there.

“ _Together_ ,” she added, offering him an apologetic look.   
  
“Then we’ll make that happen.”

He wrapped a hand around hers, the two working together to encase the ring. He laid a kiss on their knuckles.

Just then, Jackson emerged from the doorway.

He hesitated when he saw the pair, but shook it off and gestured to wave Abby in:

“Clarke’s awake!”

Marcus smiled at her, quickly brushing away any remaining wetness on Abby’s cheek, and Abby returned the smile as they headed back inside.

Clarke wasn’t the only one awake, it would turn out. Octavia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, absentmindedly picking at the bandage where her IV made its entrance. Bellamy was still asleep. The younger Griffin was in the process of propping herself up, not quite accustomed to her diminished strength. She gripped the sides of the bed, and with a grunt, managed to get herself mostly upright. She was just about to turn to move her legs from the mattress when she spotted Abby.   
  
“Mom…”

Abby hurried to her daughter’s side, taking her into a warm embrace.   
  
“Hi, baby,” she greeted, gently stroking Clarke’s hair.  
  
Octavia locked her eyes on Kane, who stood in the doorway. Her jaw clenched as she looked at him, wide eyes betraying a sense of fear – or, perhaps, shame? Her flushed cheeks finally declared that it was the latter, and she dropped her gaze. Marcus moved closer, and with deliberate gentleness, reached to hold the girl’s shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back,” he offered – and then, somewhat nervously: “ _Octavia kom Skaikru._ ”

She tilted her head towards him at this, not quite making eye contact. He smiled warmly. She began to cough, the movement almost doubling her over, and Marcus brought his other hand to the front of her shoulder to bring her back up. The fit eventually came to an end, leaving the young girl wheezing for breath.

“It’s alright. You’re safe here,” he assured her. 

Clarke pulled away from her mother.

“No, we’re not,” she announced.

Abby offered her best reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Clarke. We’ve got a plan to shelter Arkadia with-“

“It’s not the radiation,” Clarke interrupted. “It’s Ice Nation.”   
  
Marcus blinked with confusion and curiosity.

“They’ve always been a threat, Clarke - but we can’t exactly afford to turn our attention away from catastrophic radiation,” he pressed.

“They _are_ the radiation,” Octavia interjected. “That’s what she means.”

Marcus shook his head.   
  
“I don’t understand.”

He shared a look with Abby, minds racing to piece together the news.

“They’re trying to smoke us out,” Clarke finally explained. “Emerson told them about our technology, and they want it. After the news broke about the nuclear meltdowns, they figured they could vacate the premises without having to go to war.”

Marcus’ brows knit together.   
  
“That’s why Luna’s tribe fell first…” he speculated.  
  
Abby frowned.

“No. I verified that the deaths of the other clans were, in fact, caused by radiation originating from the plant meltdowns,” she argued. “That’s not something you can fake, Clarke.”  
  
“Actually, it is,” she clarified. “One of the nuclear plants is only a few miles from the Ice Nation’s northern border. They sent scouts on a relay mission to carefully harvest radioactive material and plant it in the other clans’ ventilation systems. They studied Mount Weather much more than we thought.”

“But the Broadleaf clan doesn’t use ventilation systems,” Marcus asserted. “They’re completely rural.”

“A fire pit works just as well,” Clarke shrugged.

“So does a chimney,” Octavia muttered, eyes suddenly glazing over with dark memories. Her voice was hard and low. She glanced up at Clarke, who pursed her lips tightly as their sightlines connected.

Abby turned to offer the girl a panicked look of concern before facing her daughter once more. Her eyes fell on the rough, hot patch of red flesh above Clarke’s eyebrow.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked gently. Clarke’s gaze fell.

“We found Octavia living with a couple near the border,” she explained, sadness weighing down her words. “Rison and Dela. They were good to her – good to _us_.”  
  
Clarke’s eyes grew red. She swallowed, steadying her voice before continuing.  
  
“They didn’t know they were harboring _Wanheda_ ,” she answered, barely choking out the last word. She looked up at Abby with a meaningful stare. “But the Ice Nation army did.”   

Clarke’s crystalline eyes clouded over at the memory of the atrocity they’d suffered, and – evidently – only just escaped. Abby’s shoulders fell, tears burning at her own eyes, and she reached to grab Clarke’s hand, giving it an empathetic squeeze. Marcus ran an anxious hand over his face as he processed the information.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he finally asserted, “they need clean air as much as we do. Why poison it?”    
  
“They believe in the greater good,” Clarke answered, with a mix of admiration and disdain. “While the radiation wipes out the weak, they believe a true leader will be forced to show their strength. Until that happens, they’re training their own candidates to make sure it’s one of their own. They’ll wait for the radiation to clear; and then there will be no one left to fight over their land.”

Abby shook her head.

“There will be no one left at all,” she clarified. Clarke smiled grimly.

“That’s not what they believe.”

Marcus sighed heavily, pacing with arms folded tightly across his chest. Abby had just caught her daughter’s eyes flicker curiously to the new shape attached to her mother’s necklace, Abby’s mouth jutting open to explain, when suddenly Marcus spoke up instead:  
  
“We have to tell Luna.”

All attention veered towards him.   
  
“Luna’s _alive_?” Octavia exclaimed, and Marcus had to step forward to prevent her from abandoning her bed completely and consequently ripping out her IV. “How?”

Abby turned to Marcus, then, remembering that he still hadn’t even confided as much to her. He turned a little red as he realized the size of the announcement he’d unwittingly just made. Abby watched as his dismay slowly gave way to his own attempt to remember the conversation; brows furrowing with concentration - as though the memory he sought was from days long past.

“She said she was attacked,” he recalled finally, “she came to shore to draw the assassin away from her people...”

“Ice Nation,” Clarke suggested. Kane shook his head.

“She said it could have been any of the other clans.”   
  
Octavia looked up at him; slow, understanding.

“She knew it would mean war,” she filled in, and he nodded morosely.   
  
The group heard a strangled gasp, followed by a rough series of coughs. Their attention drew to the centre of the room, where Bellamy was beginning to come to. He writhed, groaning in agony as his burns roared against clothes, against mattress, against the air itself. Beads of sweat blossomed across his skin, his eyes failing to settle on any one thing. His nostrils flared with erratic breaths, growing shallower by the second as Clarke and his sister watched with horror. Abby rushed to his side, calling for Jackson and running the back of her hand against Bellamy’s forehead.

“He’s burning up,” she breathed.

Marcus moved to help her, but found himself caught by the wrist – with Octavia Blake levelling an iron stare in his direction.

“Tell Luna… it’s too late.”


	4. Linking Arms

“Mom. Go to sleep.”  
  
The groan came from the other side of their shared bedroom, where Clarke was curled up tightly on her bed, facing the wall. She pulled her blanket closer to her, sighing with exasperation. The room was dark, slats of cool moonlight filtering in through the window. Abby lay on her back on the bed opposite Clarke’s. She tore her gaze from where it had been burning a hole in the ceiling downwards towards the daughter she’d thought – had hoped – would be miles ahead of her in dreamland by now.  
  
From a young age, Abby had possessed a talent at turning off her brain for the night to let it get some rest. There was no point dwelling in the dark on questions yet to be answered, when in all likelihood the answers would be easier found in the morning. This had served her well as a doctor: sleep deprivation never gave anyone, let alone a surgeon, a steadier hand. It had also served her well as chancellor: the issues of each day would seem to build and knot together in a chaotic mess with each waking hour, but once they’d been put away for the night, the knot would loosen and ready itself to be undone by morning.  
  
But as a mother, her skill completely forsook her. She could turn off her brain only so long as her heart wasn’t constantly nudging it awake:  
  
_She’s okay. She’s right here. My daughter’s home. But she’s sick. She needs medicine. We don’t have the medicine. Is she in pain? She’s worried about Bellamy. I’m worried about Bellamy. She’s not going to be okay if she loses Bellamy. I can’t let that happen. How long do they have?_

This last thought repeated in her head like a broken record until it finally contorted into its final form: _how long do I have with her?_ Without scans, it was impossible to tell how far along the disease was. Would Clarke get to see the new dome in its completion? Would she be able to help design their underground city? Would she get to climb to the top boughs of the new forest and paint the concrete dome with a memory of the sky?  
  
…would she get to walk her down the aisle?  
  
“Clarke… I have to tell you something.”  
  
The younger Griffin rolled onto her back, turning her head to face Abby.  
  
She hadn’t said anything about the ring since noticing it that morning, and Abby had been besieged with ripples of panic all day. She tried to take comfort by reminding herself that Clarke knew about this relationship, and had long ago given her blessing. But Abby knew better than to try to forecast Clarke’s behaviour these days, and “mom’s boyfriend” carried far fewer implications than “my new stepdad”; especially with Kane.  
  
Abby clutched both the rings in her hand. She sat up and turned to face Clarke fully, bracing herself.  
  
“Marcus…” she began, suddenly feeling how ridiculous the next part was, “…asked me to marry him.”  
  
Clarke propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes heavy with sleep, veiling any clues as to her reaction to the announcement. Abby began to panic.  
  
“I know it’s fast. But the way things are, and will be, and – we might not even get to-“  
  
“Mom, stop,” Clarke interrupted, sitting herself up fully. She sighed as she looked at her mother with pursed lips. Abby stared back at her, wide-eyed, waiting for the onslaught. She realized with some embarrassment that she’d been gripping the mattress so hard that she could feel her heart pounding in her fists.  
  
With care not to abrade her burns, Clarke pulled her blankets off herself and climbed out of her bed. She crossed the room towards Abby, plopping herself down next to her. She took her mother’s trembling hand in hers. The corners of her mouth turned upwards, in what Abby tried to believe was a smile.  
  
“I know,” Clarke confessed, with warmth. Abby blinked with confusion.  
  
“Why didn’t you say-“  
  
“I knew you’d tell me when you were ready,” she shrugged. Abby exhaled, not quite sure if “ready” was the right word for how she was feeling now, but thankful for how serene her daughter seemed to be.  
  
“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching with her free hand to hold Clarke’s, thumb moving in small, gentle strokes. Clarke nodded pensively.  
  
“You’re right. We might not have much time. You deserve to be happy,” she offered.  
  
“Clarke. I want you to know that this is serious,” Abby insisted, cupping her daughter’s face. “He does make me happy, but… happiness isn’t everything. _Hope_ is everything – and it isn’t always a light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes… hope is the courage to accept where you are. To see how much further you have to go and… not be afraid. To see what you need to do to get there.”  
  
“And Kane gives you that,” Clarke filled in, halfways a question, illiciting a nod from Abby. Clarke shook her head, suddenly, breathing a short laugh. Abby’s face dropped somewhat, eyes widening.

“What?”  
  
“No, it’s just…”  
  
Suddenly Clarke’s eyes welled up with tears, cheeks reddening as she tried to hold them back. She dropped her gaze, and a single tear broke loose, which she hurried to wipe away. Abby sought out her gaze, brushing away her daughter’s bangs.  
  
“What is it?” she inquired, hiding her apprehension as best she could. “What’s wrong?”  
  
At this, Clarke crumpled, tears flowing freely as she buried her face in her hands. Abby hurried to take her into her arms, holding her head flush against her chest.  
  
“Shh, baby,” Abby cooed, rocking gently.  
  
“It’s just… I’m so… tired,” Clarke finally squeaked out, “And I miss you.”  
  
“I’m right here,” Abby consoled, “You’ve got me.”  
  
With a sniff, Clarke removed herself from Abby’s arms, once again taking her mother’s hands.  
  
“But… I’ve missed so much,” she confessed. “I mean. It’s _Kane_.”  
  
“He’s come a long way.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Clarke hurried to correct, “But that’s what I mean. I didn’t really get to see that happen. It just kind of… did.”  
  
“If it helps - it’s strange to me, too,” Abby offered with a soft smile. “But you’ll see it every day, now, like I do - he is not the man who arrested your father anymore.”  
  
The room stilled, suddenly, as both of them realized what Abby had just said. She tensed. A wave of emotion passed over Clarke’s face, and Abby jumped into action.  
  
“He’s paid a high price for his sins, Clarke, I hope you know that,” Abby explained. “He would die to have your forgiveness.”  
  
Clarke nodded solemnly.  
  
“And, Clarke… he knows. He would never, ever ask to replace your dad. Ever.”  
  
Clarke closed her eyes, absorbing her mother’s words. When she opened them again, she smiled.  
  
“You really love him,” she remarked. Abby nodded.  
  
“And he… he loves me. _So much_ ,” she added, suddenly choking up. “And he’s better to me than I deserve.”  
  
“Hey,” Clarke interjected, squeezing her mother’s hands. “You know that’s not true.”  
  
Abby smiled at her daughter through oncoming tears. There had been moments recently that Abby clung to; moments where she could almost believe that Clarke had finally forgiven her. She knew a clean slate wasn’t hers to claim, nor hers to expect of the daughter she’d betrayed so many times – it wasn’t something she’d let herself forget, either. She was often unsure of her claim to even be a mother to this force of nature that had erupted into bloom overnight. But sometimes, there were moments – like this one – where Clarke simply let her be _human_ … and it was enough.     
  
“Thank you,” she breathed.  
  
Clarke smiled with a gentle nod. The two of them shared a laugh as they both wiped their cheeks dry, suddenly feeling ridiculous. The laughter finished with a long exhale from both of them, still holding each other’s hands.    
  
“So… when’s the date?”    
  
\---  
  
It was nearly sunset when Luna finally insisted that Kane and Indra sit down to break bread with her. She’d met the pair at the city gates and together, they’d strolled through the woods surrounding Polis, debriefing the Commander on the matters at hand.  
  
The first time Marcus had met Luna had been in the throne room of the Commander’s tower. She’d only arrived in Polis and made her claim to the throne hours before; and she wore her new responsibility with a grim reverence. With her wild russet hair and broad stance, she was a presence – a voice that didn’t need to fight to be heard. But that day, she hadn’t spoken much, the air instead being filled with the voices of grounder nobility campaigning to be the new _fleimkepa_. They’d swarmed her as she paced the throne room, decidedly ignoring her seat of honour. Marcus, ushered in by the guard, had taken a position by the wall to wait his turn. It had taken a few moments, but Luna eventually took notice of the still, quiet man, and separated herself from the swarm to inquire of him.  
  
“You say you’re from _Skaikru_?” she’d asked. “That’s not possible.”  
  
He’d shown her his brand.  
  
“The thirteenth clan of the coalition formed under Commander Lexa _kom Trikru_. I am the co-chancellor of _skaikru_ , yes.”  
  
She’d smiled sadly.  
  
“If only your children were as patient as you.”     

She’d inquired with curiosity about how a co-chancellorship had been arranged, and who else held the title. At her guidance, they’d abandoned the throne room to carry on their discourse in the relative privacy of the halls. Marcus felt himself immediately at ease with the new Commander. She was a woman of conviction, but not without mercy. There were remnants of Lexa in her – even without the flame, still in Clarke’s possession - but her isolation from the rest of Grounder society had refined a wisdom that was remarkable.

When they’d parted ways, her lover’s ring in his hand, the words “call it hope” had echoed like a shout into a cavern.  
  
On this day, she’d refused to meet them in the heights of the tower. She had arrived at the city gates, a leather satchel hanging from her shoulder – completely unaccompanied. Indra had called it foolish. Marcus agreed; however, he knew it was a statement: _we are equals_.   
  
They’d trekked along the edge of valley in which Polis nestled itself, always keeping the city in view as they spoke of leadership and radiation and the Ice Nation.  
  
Her easy demeanour was tightened at the accusation.  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
Indra looked to Kane for confirmation. He nodded gravely.  
  
“Three of ours took shelter with a family inside the border,” he explained. “The family was attacked with the same methods they’d informed our people of. Clarke and the others are being treated for radiation burns back at camp.”  
  
“And the family?”  
  
“They didn’t survive,” he confirmed. Luna shook her head slowly, pensively.  
  
“You are brave to have _Wanheda_ under your roof,” she commented.  
  
“She’s the co-chancellor’s daughter,” he pointed out. “And she’s just a kid.”  
  
Indra snorted at this.  
  
“There’s no such thing as the innocence of children, Kane. You know what Clarke has done,” the warrior jeered.  
  
“And she has paid the price every time,” he asserted, casting a warning glance at Indra as he did so. Her eyes narrowed.  
  
“And yet she still lives.”  
  
Kane stopped in his tracks.  
  
“We all have blood on our hands,” he shot back. “If justice were a matter of even weight, then please explain why the same price is being asked of Bellamy and Octavia.”  
  
Indra retreated at this, nodding her concession. Luna observed the interaction with curiosity.  
  
“Kane is right,” she declared, turning Marcus’ attention back towards her. “ _Jus drein jus daun_ is more than we can afford.”  
  
Indra stepped forward, approaching Luna with some desperation.  
  
“Do not suggest that the _Azgeda_ go unpunished for their crimes,” she argued, the clan’s name uttered with venom. “They have shown themselves many times to be disloyal. They will always be a threat, _Heda_. You know this. What we can’t afford is to let them roam free and poison our people until there’s no one left.”  
  
“You would have me commit genocide,” Luna calmly accused.  
  
“They are all guilty,” Indra answered. “They have no leader to answer for them.”  
  
Marcus stepped in.  
  
“We know now that there are people who would be sympathetic to the coalition,” he offered, turning back to Indra: “Genocide is not an option.”  
  
“They must at least be disciplined!”  
  
Marcus shook his head.  
  
“There has to be another way.”  
  
Luna was quiet for a long moment. She turned, suddenly, and strode away from them as she considered. She nearly disappeared into the woods before turning to face the city as it expanded before her.  
  
Indra turned to Kane, head hanging low.  
  
“I’m sorry. I was out of line,” she confessed.  
  
He acknowledged the apology, a corner of his mouth turning upward as he clapped a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“We all have a lot to learn,” he mused. He gestured towards Luna. “It can’t be easy. She swore never to take another life.”  
  
“I just pray it won’t be her own that’s taken.”  
  
Luna finally began to make her way back to where Kane and Indra stood.  
  
“Come. Let’s eat,” she commanded, slinging the satchel forward over her shoulder and onto the ground. She crouched down, opening the bag to reveal a few rolls of bread and a jar of pickled herring. She folded her legs beneath her, tearing a piece from the bread and offering it to Indra. She took it, eyeing the Commander with mild suspicion before slowly settling herself onto the ground as well.  
  
“ _Mochof/_ Thank you,” she uttered, taking the bread into her mouth. Luna offered another piece to Marcus. He readily accepted, and bowed his head.  
  
“ _Mochof.”_

Once the three of them were on the ground, an easy silence fell upon them as they ate. Marcus began to take in his surroundings: the bustling streets of Polis below them, pierced by the Commander’s tower which glittered in the golden light. He could hear the low, not-too-distant murmur of crowds in those streets, which underlined the whisper of wind through the trees. Occasionally, that hum would be perforated by the bright, clear tones of children playing. He could see there was a small farm close to the city’s edge, only an acre or so; and the heady scent of fertilizer wafted up to them on a cool breeze. He laughed to himself that he’d ever entertained thoughts of blackened fields, empty space, and a void – when here he was, sitting with two leaders of this great society… and breaking bread.  
  
“There was once a time when you were at war,” said Luna, finally. “Marcus of _Skaikru_ and Indra of _Trikru._ ”  
  
Indra cautiously laid down the piece of fish she’d been gnawing at.  
  
“I’ve heard the stories. You’ve both suffered so much bloodshed at the hands of the other. And yet here you are, as allies,” Luna continued, “and friends. Friends who have come together to share a meal. You must congratulate yourselves on this victory.”  
  
Marcus and Indra shared a look as they waited for Luna to continue.  
  
“This is the path I choose: we invite our enemies in,” she announced. Horror and outrage washed over Indra’s face; intrigue over Marcus’. Luna turned to the latter. “Marcus, you say that you’re building a dome to protect your people. Polis deserves the same.”  
  
Marcus nodded, confusion still not quite dissipating.

“Of course,” he confirmed, “although it may take more time to adapt to the size-“  
  
“We will tear down the Commander’s tower,” Luna interrupted. “We’ll use its materials to build.”  
  
“Are you sure about this? From a tactical standpoint-“  
  
“Tactics are the language of war. If we’re going to survive, we need to stand together, and I have no interest in being isolated from my people. I will call on the other clans to send their best craftsmen, and a dome will be built to protect us.”  
  
The whites of Indra’s eyes gleamed brightly with shock.  
  
“Forget about tactics,” she sputtered. “That tower has stood for decades as a symbol of our people, and you would use it for spare parts?”  
  
“These are different times, Indra,” Luna consoled. “We do what must be done to protect our people – all of our people. The clans will be invited to live under our protection, and those who do will be sworn to an oath of peace. That will include the Ice Nation.”  
  
“They will never agree to this,” argued Indra.  
  
“They’ll have to,” breathed Marcus, piecing it together. “With the radiation from the plant they’ve been harvesting from, sooner or later they’ll be faced with a choice of life or death.”  
  
Luna nodded.  
  
“It will be their choice, not mine,” she concluded.  
  
Marcus ran a hand over his face, exhaling deeply as he processed Luna’s plan.  
  
“We could build… a tunnel, establish a marketplace between our two cities,” he offered. Luna smiled warmly. Indra’s terror had given way to mere apprehension, listening intently as the future of her people was decided.  
  
“It… it is a good plan,” she resolved, her expression not quite matching the sentiment.  
  
“I’m glad you approve,” Luna smiled, now turning to the representative from _Skaikru:_ “Marcus… there’s one more thing.”  
  
Marcus quirked an eyebrow at the Commander.  
  
“It is important to me that the day of the dome’s completion is a happy one. Your people have an advantage in getting accustomed to being contained; mine have only ever known the freedom of the entire earth. It will be bittersweet to see the last stone set above us. But we can’t spend our time below the concrete missing the sky, or our peace will be at stake, do you understand?”  
  
He thought back to the Ark. They’d thought they’d established peace and stability, but humanity had never been so against itself as when they were mourning life on Earth. Mourning its endless supply of oxygen. Mourning access to medicinal plants. Mourning real nutrition. And he’d been a faithful widower – making whatever sacrifices necessary to suffer those losses.  
  
Where there _had_ been peace, however, was at his mother’s side. Vera Kane had preached the _celebration_ of Earth, of the days to come when they would feel the dirt on their fingertips and the air in their lungs and know that they were home. Her followers accepted their daily rations with patience, because they believed in the future instead of being buried alive by the past.  
  
“I understand,” he nodded. She righted her posture, drawing her shoulders back and setting her chin high.  
  
“Good. I have decided that the thirteen clans will come together on that day for a celebration that will be noted in the history books as the greatest day of peace this world has known,” she began. Marcus made intent efforts to follow as she elaborated: “A day to celebrate hope and unity. A day that will erase past hurts and set us on the path towards the future. A day that will finally establish your clan as one of us. A day to celebrate Marcus Kane, _fleimkepa_ …”  
  
Luna paused to give him a mischievous smile, relishing in his wide eyes and suddenly-slackened jaw as she concluded:  
  
“…in his marriage to the mother of _Wanheda_.”      
     


	5. Standing Guard

As Marcus drove through the gates of Arkadia the next morning, he was greeted by Jaha, who was flanked by a team of about a dozen eager-looking Arkadians – the scavengers for Mount Weather.   
  
He carefully pulled the Rover around to face the still-open gate, and put it into park. As he hopped out, he saw Thelonious give a command, and the team scrambled, revealing a makeshift trailer they’d built to attach to the Rover – a metal box on wheels, more or less – which had been at rest behind them. They immediately set about moving it into place.   
  
“Good news from the Capitol?” Jaha inquired. Marcus hesitated.  
  
“Good news. The new Commander is very keen on _unity_ ,” he answered, smiling to himself at this last word.  “There will be no war.”  
  
“That’s all I need to know for now,” nodded Jaha with an exhale of relief; “I’ll expect a full debrief at the next council meeting. It’s time we put our noses to the proverbial grindstone.”    
  
Marcus nodded.   
  
“Where’s Abby?”   
  
“In Medical, with Bellamy Blake,” Jaha answered. “I believe they’re preparing him for surgery.”   
  
“Surgery?” Marcus repeated, his heart sinking.   
  
“He’s a brave boy,” Jaha confirmed. “And he’s in good hands.”   
  
The two men nodded at each other, and Marcus had moved to head inside when suddenly he spotted a familiar head of braided brown hair crouched down and wrestling determinedly with the hitch.  
  
“Octavia,” he remarked. She kept her head low, ignoring the acknowledgement. He crossed his arms, frowning. “What exactly are you doing?”   
  
She rose, and stepped to move past him, decidedly avoiding eye contact – but found herself caught by her arm.   
  
“Hey,” Marcus chided sharply. “You need to rest.”   
  
“And we need a translator,” came Jaha’s calm reply from over Kane’s shoulder. Octavia turned her head and gave the man holding her an icy glare, completely lost on him as concerned eyes skimmed the rough, red patches of skin on her cheek. Jaha approached. “The Commander may be a friend, but her wishes have not yet come to pass. We don’t know how the Grounders will take us digging through a gravesite like Mount Weather. We must communicate.”   
  
Marcus released his grip on Octavia, still holding her gaze.   
  
“Your brother needs you,” he urged, low enough that only she could hear.   
  
“Stay out of this, Kane,” she spat back at him, gritting her teeth, “Or maybe you’ll end up under a scalpel, too.”   
  
Stunned, he blinked at what didn’t quite feel like a threat as she finally made her way past him and into the Rover. He eyed Jaha: stoic as he oversaw the interaction. The former Chancellor stepped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, starting the engine. The rest of the team either hopped into the back of the Rover or into the trailer, clinging to its edges as they jolted into motion. Marcus still stood watching as the vehicle disappeared into the woods.   
  
His attention was finally torn from the darkness beyond the trees when the edge of his vision caught Clarke and Raven strolling together along the surrounding walls. They were in discussion, gesturing animatedly at each other, simultaneously referencing both the walls themselves and a piece of paper in Clarke’s hand. She pulled a pencil out from behind her ear and began to scribble on the paper, Raven hovering as she did so. Clarke held the paper out in front of Raven, and the mechanic nodded her approval. With an almost imperceptible hoist of her knee-brace, the brunette set off marching once more, with Clarke not far behind.  
  
Perhaps blissful ignorance had its place.  
  
He marched on towards Medical.   
  
When he arrived, Jackson was hunched over a table spread with various tools, and Abby was in the process of drawing a dotted line in an oblong shape on Bellamy’s neck. The hand not holding the marker was splayed around the rest of his neck, pulling the skin taught and occasionally massaging to feel for whatever it was she was tracing. Bellamy sat like a statue on the bed, eyes locked on some arbitrary point in the opposite corner of the room – until he spotted Kane.   
  
“Good to see you, sir,” he greeted, offering a genuine smile, which Marcus returned. Abby clicked the lid back onto the marker and turned towards Marcus, her own warm smile causing a stutter in his heartbeat.   
  
“Welcome back,” she cheered. “How’s Luna?”   
  
An irregularity in his heartbeat of a completely different kind.   
  
“Luna’s… good,” he replied as he approached her. When he reached Abby’s side, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his hand giving a gentle squeeze to the one opposite him. She softened against him, her own arm snaking around his waist. There was a brightness in her eyes as she looked up at him, listening intently. He eyed her cautiously as he tried to decide where to start: “She wants to build a dome over Polis, like we’re building. There’s to be a transitory tunnel between Arkadia and Polis, to maintain relations.”  
  
“And what about relations with Ice Nation?” inquired Bellamy.   
  
“She’s going to send out an invitation to all clans to live under Polis’ protection – with the caveat of swearing an oath of peace,” Marcus answered.   
  
“They’ll never agree to that,” noted Abby. Marcus chuckled to himself.   
  
“That’s what Indra said. I agree. Although I think they’ll find the offer much more appealing once the real radiation begins to close in on them,” he explained. He half-opened his mouth to continue: to announce his new title; or, if he were feeling particularly daring, the new date of his and Abby’s wedding. He closed his lips.    
  
He eyed the markings on Bellamy’s neck, careful not to focus on the fading bruises that also occupied the area.   
  
“How are you feeling?” he inquired, changing the subject.   
  
“Could be better,” Bellamy shrugged. “Could be worse.”  
  
“He’s got a tumor on his thyroid gland,” Abby filled in calmly, sighing. “If I can remove it, it will at least give us a chance to slow down the spread.”  
  
Jackson appeared, then, a needle in hand.   
  
“The anaesthetic is ready to be administered, Abby,” he announced.   
  
“Thank you, Jackson,” she replied. She pressed a gentle hand to Bellamy’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”   
  
Bellamy swallowed heavily before nodding at Abby, his expression all confidence.   
  
“Let’s do this.”   
  
Marcus pressed a quick kiss to Abby’s hair before removing himself from her.   
  
“I’ll let you get to it,” he conceded, stepping towards the door. He pointed at Bellamy, quirking a playful eyebrow. “Good to take the night shift?”   
  
Bellamy laughed.   
  
“You got it, sir.”   
  
As Marcus made his exit, he could hear the familiar sound of Abby’s doctor-voice at work: “Alright, so the anaesthetic should kick in in a couple minutes; you’ll feel a little dizzy at first but just let it happen. You’re going to do great.”   
  
He made no effort to hide the fond smile that spread across his face as he headed down the hallway; but it was soon swallowed up by the guilt of not having told Abby the whole truth; followed by the horror of knowing he’d have to do so sooner or later.   
  
_Later_ was his choice.   
  
_Later_ was, ultimately, his punishment.   
  
While the surgery was taking place, he decided he would attempt to bury himself in the depths of the census data he knew Jaha had collected while he was away and had left for him in the Chancellor’s office. To his credit, he rationalized, he did manage to run analytics on citizens (verifying average age, height, health concerns, whether or not they were capable of reproduction, and so on and so forth) all the way up to last names starting with G… before he finally had to set the datapad down.   
  
(As co-chancellor, he had a duty to the people of Arkadia. His people. Not Luna’s.   
  
But.)   
  
He set off for the mess hall, and tried to take his time as he nibbled at his lunch… it was gone within minutes. Staring blankly at the remaining crumbs on his plate, he was suddenly overcome with the conviction that inventory should be taken of the cutlery in the mess hall; it was the nature of forks and knives to discreetly disappear, and it wouldn’t do for them to be eating with their hands while they were underground. _The devil is in the details_ , he preached to himself as he set to work behind the bar, pain-stakingly counting each stainless steel piece. _We did not come all this way to return to the Paleolithic era._

(Luna had promised a feast of celestial proportions to follow the wedding ceremony...  
  
He’d have to save counting the spoons for another day.)   
  
Active decision-making having failed him thus far, Marcus finally decided to let his feet take him wherever they willed. After a series of haphazard corners taken through the halls, nodding at passersby - as though wherever he was going, he was going with purpose - he now found himself standing before the large glass doors of the airlock.   
  
Monty had made quick work of adapting the space for his purposes, a dense, even layer of rich, red soil completely blanketing its floor. Out of that soil, sure enough – two dozen tiny little green sprouts. Some were barely more than a curly wisp poking through the dirt, but a handful of them were topped by one or two little leaves, barely the size of a fingernail.   
  
The Eden Tree itself presided with gentle sovereignty at the centre of its children. Monty had, indeed, been careful to treat it with respect; in fact, Marcus swore it had grown taller under the young man’s care. Abby had said that his mother would have been proud of the tree’s survival. He closed his eyes for a moment as he grieved the fact that he’d never see her bright, giddy reaction to the news that the tree would now be _their_ survival.   
  
(He tried to give himself credit as the guardian for that sacred symbol, the heir to his mother’s legacy.)  
  
Marcus’ eyes drifted to the panel to the left of the doors, where a large red button – now dim – glared mercilessly at him. He swallowed as he moved towards it, thumbing it with a potent cocktail of reverence and fear. Years ago, he’d had a choice between committing his life to his mother’s little tree or committing to this cracked, circular trigger – and that’s what it was, more accurately.   
  
He’d chosen the trigger.  
  
The last time he’d ordered that trigger pulled had been to end the life of the woman he was now marrying – and it had taken the intervention of Thelonious Jaha, the man who’d almost killed them all for the cause of an AI, to stop him.  
  
_We decide_ , whispered Abby’s voice in his head.   
  
_No. Luna decided. I didn’t ask for this.  
  
We decide, _ came the whisper again. Flashes of brown eyes and long lashes. A willowy arm flung in desperation across his body. The warmth and softness of her weight on his chest in the frigid depths of rocky rubble. The delight of watching her place her tiny frame between him and whatever threat, again and again. The shocking strength of it - able, even, to hold the weight of both of their sins as he collapsed into her shoulder and wept.     
  
He finally left the airlock, venturing back into the more heavily-populated halls. He passed near Medical, where he was intercepted by Clarke, who was on her way in. The surgery was still in progress. She said that Bellamy was relatively stable, but that the proximity to important arteries made the procedure terribly delicate. Despite Abby’s best efforts, he’d still lost a fair amount of blood, and Clarke had volunteered for the necessary transfusion. It would still be a while yet.   
  
He carried onward.   
  
Before long, Jaha’s team returned in the Rover, rolling in through the gates at a snail’s pace with a substantial heap of concrete shrapnel rising from the trailer behind it. On top of the heap sat Octavia, a queen on her throne. The Rover came to a stop, and the team dispersed from inside the Rover; some shouldering smaller blocks that had been loaded into the back of the vehicle. Octavia hopped down from the miniature mountain, landing hard on her feet. Still hunched over, she raised an arm to her mouth and her shoulders shook as she was overtaken by a sudden coughing fit. Marcus frowned at the sight, hurrying to her side. She was catching her breath in long, ragged wheezes when he finally approached her.   
  
“Go… away… Kane,” she warned in between breaths.   
  
“You’ve done enough,” he commented with deliberate softness. “I can take over from here.”   
  
She eyed him warily from her bent-over position, hands pressed to her legs for support. As her breathing slowly resumed its normal easiness, she finally gave a small nod. Marcus clapped a friendly hand on her shoulder, moving towards the heap as it had begun to be unloaded.   
  
“Hey Kane?” he heard the young girl’s voice, thick with rasp, call out after him.   
  
“Mm?”  
  
Her eyes locked on his, big and bright and… scared.  
  
“Is… is he okay?”   
  
He nodded.   
  
“He’s still in there.”   
  
Taking the cue, Octavia nodded in acknowledgement before turning and trotting off towards Medical. Marcus pushed up his sleeves and took his place in the assembly line that had formed to transport the concrete to various strategic spots along Arkadia’s wall.   
  
He spent the remainder of the day in that mode: endlessly lugging piles of cumbersome, dirty, and awkwardly-shaped building materials across the courtyard, taking inventory, working through the beginnings of a plan with Jaha, and narrowly avoiding heat exhaustion in the process. At progressively longer intervals, he’d peak to see if Abby, Clarke, or Octavia had emerged, only to inevitably find that they had not.   
  
Eventually, darkness and weariness settled in, and it was agreed that they’d accomplished the best of what they could for the day. The team set about building a campfire to cap off the night, which Marcus politely dismissed himself from: a sip or two of moonshine in good company presented all too great a danger of him letting slip his big announcement. He was already risking Abby’s wrath at having prolonged the telling of it, but she would never forgive him if she heard it from someone else first.   
  
Passing by Medical, her voice could still be heard – thin and coarse from exhaustion – softly narrating to herself and an unconscious Bellamy as she worked. Suddenly, a frustrated sigh – and an instruction to Jackson to increase the flow rate of the transfusion. Bellamy was still losing too much blood.  
  
So, perhaps, he wouldn’t be able to tell her tonight. He headed for his quarters.  
  
\---  
  
It was just past midnight, and Marcus was nearly asleep. His aching muscles rested heavy against his mattress, and it wasn’t long before his breathing began to slow. He didn’t hear the quiet click of his door opening; didn’t feel the sliver of light the open doorway allowed in, nor the shadow that moved through it, closing the door behind them. He didn’t hear the soft footsteps across his floor.   
  
What he did feel was this: a shift in his mattress, and fingertips tenderly brushing his bangs away from his forehead.  
  
“Can I join you?”   
  
He breathed in deep, her scent giving her away before he’d even opened his eyes. When he did will them to open, he saw Abby: seated on the edge of his mattress, twinkling eyes brightening the exhaustion on her face. She’d let her hair down from its previous confinement in a ponytail, waves of golden brown cascading over her shoulders and almost covering the black tank she’d undressed down to. The slender muscles in her arms were rigid from overuse, veins dancing up her forearms; she kept a hand on his cheek as he came to. He feigned a playful groan of concession, shifting his weight to make room for her. She gave him a smirk and promptly kicked off her boots; climbing in and taking her place under his arm.  
  
They lay there facing each other for a moment, both heads resting on one pillow. She tilted her head, and they pressed their foreheads together. Marcus made little effort to fight the heaviness in his eyelids as they lowered over his eyes.   
  
“Mm,” was the first sound he managed to make. “How did everything go?”   
  
She pressed a hand to his chest.  
  
“Fine,” she breathed. “Just finished.”   
  
His eyes cracked open to discern her expression.   
  
“Is he alright?”   
  
“He will be,” she answered. “It’s a step, anyway. The best I can do for him with what I’ve got… I hope it’s enough.”   
  
_Cautiously optimistic_ , he decided as a corner of her mouth ghosted upward. His eyes fixed on that corner, and he tilted his head the small distance between his mouth and hers; pressing a light, lazy kiss to her lips. He felt both corners of her mouth stretch upward against his lips in a full smile, and as they parted, she pulled herself even closer to him; sighing with satisfaction as she nuzzled her head against his broad chest. He wrapped his arms fully around her, burying his fingertips in her hair.  
  
“I told Clarke,” she murmured, listening intently as his heartbeat suddenly quickened.  
  
“About us?”  
  
“Mm. She approves,” Abby announced, affected formality betrayed by a playful grin. “Looks like we can get married after all.”    
  
Suddenly, she felt his heart slam against his chest, somehow quickening even further. His eyes shot open with a flash of sudden alertness. Her playfulness gave way to concern.  
  
“Marcus?”  
  
“Abby,” he began, “There’s… there’s something I haven’t told you.”   
  
He removed himself from her and sat up, then, prompting her to do the same. She folded her legs under her, sitting so she could face him.  
  
“What is it?” she queried as she studied him, panic growing in the whites of her eyes.  
  
Marcus groaned heavily, running tense hands over his face as he braced himself to get it over with.  
  
“There were a couple… _addendums_ … to Luna’s plan,” he started. “Our wedding may be a little bigger than we were expecting, for one.”  
  
At this, confusion riddled itself through Abby’s features. It occurred to her that she didn’t actually know what she was expecting; weddings on the Ark had been a matter of procedure more than celebration: a handful of friends and family standing by in the chapel as witnesses while the couple signed their marriage license, an evening for the couple to move into their now-shared living quarters, and then back to work the next morning. They simply couldn’t afford frivolity. Now that they were on the ground, Abby had allowed herself to entertain the idea of a dress, and perhaps even a party – to which all of Arkadia would be invited, of course. But she often dismissed those thoughts as girlish and impractical, and all expectations evaporated to make room for the issues of the day. She realized now that she had even less of a grasp on Marcus’ expectations – that he even had any, to start.   
  
“How _much_ bigger?”   
  
He cleared his throat.  
  
“Everyone,” he answered. “Every member of every clan is to be in attendance.”  
  
Abby breathed a short, dry laugh, a skeptical eyebrow raising into her hairline.   
  
“Marcus. You can’t be serious.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Why on earth would the Grounders have any interest in you and I?”   
  
“Because you, my love, are the mother of _Wanheda,_ ” he pointed out, then breathed bone-deep as he prepared to release the other half of that truth; a catapult pulled tight and loaded with everything they’d worked together to build: “and I am – or will be - the flamekeeper to Commander Luna kom Floukru.”               
  
Abby blinked. Her mouth dropped open dumbly, desperately trying to find a response, but instead found herself running into a wall built of her own ignorance. She huffed, setting her jaw as she studied Marcus’ pitifully frightened gaze.   
  
“What does that – what does that mean, exactly?” she finally managed.

Marcus cleared his throat, shifting on the mattress.   
  
“Well, historically, it’s been something of a religious role,” he began, in the simple, clear tone of a teacher to his student. He tried to remember Luna’s own words to him as he’d asked her the very same question: “The flamekeeper was the heart of Grounder traditions. They officiated ascension ceremonies, kept account of all nightbloods born, oversaw the conclave…”

“But that’s not what Luna has in mind for you,” Abby posited, more a question than a statement. Marcus smiled as he shook his head.

“No. There’s no place for Marcus _kom Skaikru_ ,” he replied, especially enunciating the last two words, “to claim authority over Grounder tradition. But that’s exactly why she’s convinced I’m fit to wear the title. There’s a more important responsibility involved, and that’s to protect the Commander, to advise her as she rules. Luna understands that the future cannot resemble the past if we’re to find peace.”

Abby nodded, a whisper of understanding working its way into her mind. Her gaze fell, and he could see her eyes flickering back and forth beneath her lashes as she processed. Recognizing the uncharacteristic silence that followed, Marcus reached out, offering a tender caress down her arm before taking her hand in his.

“She’s inviting us in,” he pressed. “It’s a chance to show the Grounders that we can work together and thrive.”

Abby nodded as she considered the notion. Marcus’ eyes darted everywhere on her face in search of a clue towards what she might be thinking. Finally – she pursed her lips. He braced himself.  

“But will they see it that way?” she postulated. “We can’t assume they’re just going to accept this.”

“It’s a risk.”

“You saw what the Grounders did to Lexa for even considering an alliance,” she countered, shaking her head.

“These are different times, Abby,” he argued, panic beginning to thin out his voice. “We have to trust that they don’t believe change is worth being afraid of anymore.”   

“And you’re not afraid?”

“Of what?”

“That you might be wrong.”

 “Like that’s ever stopped you.”

At the quip, whatever response she’d readied had died on her lips, a dry smile suddenly cracking the solemnity of her features. But the implication had been made – this could get him killed. The brightness in her face faded just as quickly as it had come. She swallowed, steeling herself.

“Marcus, this is - this is _such_ an honour…” she appealed, the _but_ that would complete the sentence hanging heavy in the air between them. She drew herself up to come close, taking his face in both of her hands as her bright, fearful eyes filled in the blank. She pressed a kiss to his lips – a tight, tense thing that he tried in vain to soften with gentle reciprocation – before wrapping herself around him and burying her head in the curve of his neck. He sighed a heavy sigh, running a soothing hand up and down her back as she clung to him.

He’d considered so many arguments that Abby might throw back at him: that his allegiances would be tested, that he’d be once again burdening her with sole chancellorship, that he’d be putting miles and miles between where duty demanded he and his future wife spend their days. But, as always, Abby Griffin had skilfully zeroed in on the crack in the armor, the loose brick in the wall; simply by being Abby Griffin. Such cerebral things didn’t interest her. Her desires were far simpler than Marcus had ever learned to anticipate: she just wanted her husband alive.  

He felt his heart fracture.

“I don’t have to do this,” he finally murmured, little more than a puff of warm air against Abby’s hair. “She gave me a week to consider. I can say no.”

There was a long silence before he felt Abby take a deep breath; releasing her vice-like grip on his shoulders, slowly raising her head to face him.

“No, you can’t.”

“I can,” he argued, the desire to believe his own words suddenly coursing through him like a drug. “There are plenty of other candidates for the title.”

She wasn’t convinced. The rigid defensiveness had left her, and she was small and soft in his arms; but there was a sad, resolute smile on her lips that told him he wasn’t going to win this argument.

He kept trying.

“I can stay here, Abby,” he offered, reaching to tilt her chin towards him so she’d know he was serious. She continued to look at him with that same immovable melancholy. He kept on: “This is home, Abby. These are my people. Our people. Luna will understand that. And,” he started, a smirk playing at his lips which didn’t quite reach his panicked eyes, “someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”

Abby breathed a short laugh at that.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep me in line,” she smiled. She lightly brushed the tip of her finger along the curve of his bottom lip, affectionately considering the man before her. The words that followed were steady and deliberate:

“Marcus… you were made for this.”

“But-“

“No. You were. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve had your eye on history – on leaving your mark,” she protested gently, taking a moment to smile at the thought of what that mark once would have looked like. She huffed a short sigh of concession, continuing: “And you’re right - this is it. This is your chance - to find peace with the Grounders, to build a life beyond survival… it’s everything we’ve worked for. And Marcus, I can’t think of anyone more suited to carrying that than you.”

He blinked, stunned. She smirked.

“You know I’m right.”

He kissed her, then; a bright burst of emotion overwhelming him. This time she was open and warm, and Marcus could have wept at the way she took his face in her hands, like he was her most precious treasure. He could feel the fiery blaze of pride she had in him with each reverent brush of her lips, endlessly followed by the desperate indulgence of teeth and tongue; pulling him deeper to her. He wrapped one arm completely around her shoulders, squeezing her tight; the other pressed at the small of her back, lifting her towards him. Eventually, he let himself lay back beneath her, and the urgency settled into an easy series of slow, languid kisses, her wild hair draping over them both as her body melted into his.   

“I love you, Abby,” he breathed, in the midst of a small pause.

She nodded.

“We’ll figure something out.”

And for the first time that day, he believed it.  

 


End file.
